One midnight, armed with a dark lantern and a cloak, I was traversing the streets alone,—­unsuccessful, as usual, just now solitary, and almost in despair.  As I turned a corner, two men were but scarcely visible a step before me.  It was a badly-lighted part of the town.  Unseen and noiseless I followed.  They spoke in low tones,—­almost whispers; or rather, one spoke,—­the other seemed to nod assent.

“On the day but one after to-morrow,” I heard spoken in English.  Great Heavens! was it possible? had I arrived at a clue?  That was the day of days for me.  “You have given it, you say, in this billet,—­I wish to be exact, you see,” continued the voice,—­“to prevent detection, you gave it, ten minutes after it came into your hands, to the butler of Madame——­,” (here the speaker stumbled on the rough pavement, and I lost the name,) “who,” he continued, “will put it in the——­” (a second stumble acted like a hiccough) “cellar.”

“Wine-cellar,” I thought; “and what then?”

“In the——.”  A third stumble was followed by a round German oath.  How easy it is for me now to fill up the little blanks which that unhappy pavement caused!

“You share your receipts with this butler.  On the day I obtain it,” he added, and I now perceived his foreign accent, “I hand you one hundred thousand francs; afterward, monthly payments till you have received the stipulated sum.  But how will this butler know me, in season to prevent a mistake?  Hem!—­he might give it to the other!”

My hearing had been trained to such a degree that I would have promised to overhear any given dialogue of the spirits themselves, but the whisper that answered him eluded me.  I caught nothing but a faint sibillation.  “Your ring?” was the rejoinder.  “He shall be instructed to recognize it?  Very well.  It is too large,—­no, that will do, it fits the first finger.  There is nothing more.  I am under infinite obligations, Sir; they shall be remembered.  Adieu!”

The two parted; which should I pursue?  In desperation I turned my lantern upon one, and illumined a face fresh with color, whose black eyes sparkled askance after the retreating figure, under straight black brows.  In a moment more he was lost in a false cul-de-sac, and I found it impossible to trace the other.

I was scarcely better off than before; but it seemed to me that I had obtained something, and that now it was wisest to work this vein.  “The butler of Madame——.”  There were hundreds of thousands of Madames in town.  I might call on all, and be as old as the Wandering Jew at the last call.  The cellar.  Wine-cellar, of course,—­that came by a natural connection with butler,—­but whose?  There was one under my own abode; certainly I would explore it.  Meanwhile, let us see the entertainments for Wednesday.  The Prefect had a list of these.  For some I found I had cards; I determined to allot a fraction of time to as many as possible; my friends in the Secret Service would divide the labor.  Among others, Madame de St. Cyr gave a dinner, and, as she had been in the affair, I determined not to neglect her on this occasion, although having no definite idea of what had been, or plan of what should be done.  I decided not to speak of this occurrence to Hay, since it might only bring him off some trail that he had struck.